Mirror, Mirror
by just ritter
Summary: Merton relieves some tension. Technically it’s a “dark” theme, bad, and has the F word a few times. Dang, there's another chapter, I'm not sure what the summary is anymore...
1. Default Chapter

Mirror, Mirror

Summary: Merton relieves some tension.

Warning: Technically it's a "dark" theme, short, bad, and has the F word a few times. Please go easy on me, this is my first real attempt at a BWOC fanfic.

Disclaimer: I don't own them and this is fiction.

On with the ficcy.

                Merton angrily tore the long sleeved black shirt from his scrawny frame and threw it to the floor. He regarded the various stark white indents littering the flesh of his arm, narrowing his eyes in a considering glare, with disgust. _I'll never be normal with these_ he spat mentally. _Just a stupid little fuck up._ But still he reached for the kitchen knife he stashed. He walked to the bathroom adjacent to his lair and studied his pale features in the mirror. _Fucking disappointment to everyone._

                "Your own sister despises you," he told the reflection glowering back at him. _Stupid worthless fuck._

                He slanted the knife so the edge traced the pale blue line that signaled a vein. _I should press down and  take everyone out of their misery._ Trickles of blood spotted the path of the blade where he'd reopened scabbed incisions from previous such musings.

                "But no," the reflections lips moved. He could feel the words coming from his mouth also but the voice sounded so alien to his ears, "that would be letting them win. They don't fucking deserve to win."

                He turned his arm so the side was next to the blade and pressed down, reveling in the feel and sight of the steel embedding into his already scared flesh. He felt no pain, not the bad kind anyways. It reminded him he was alive. Dragging it along with a surgeon's precision, he watched in morbid fascination as blood seeped from his skin before removing the blade altogether.

                "Freakenstein!" Becky hollered from the steps to his lair. "Dinner. Hurry up."

                "Coming," he called back, not that he thought she'd care.

                He wetted a washcloth from the laundry pile and, with one last almost forlorn look at the blood now dripping off his arm and into the sink, cleaned up his mess. He took a roll of gauze from the medicine cabinet and folded it up so it thickly covered the cut before taping it thoroughly. He went to his dresser drawer and pulled out one of the few baggy long sleeved shirts he owned and put it on, satisfied it didn't reveal his bandaging and walked up the steps to sit through one of the few family meals his parents bothered to leave work for.


	2. Default Chapter 2

All the important shit is in the first chapter.

Note: Ok toward the end this gets cliché sorta, bad, and condescending, I apologize but the editing just wouldn't come. The next chapter will be better in those respects I hope. Completely unintentional, I didn't know chapters were coming…blame it on the reviewers, man, I never knew how shit like that'll go to your head, heh. Torturing Merton *is* pretty fun in that masochistic way that's so damned tantalizing…

                Dinner was over with few, painless words exchanged and Merton retreated to the confines of the lair only to collapse onto his bed and stare up at the ceiling.

Midnight came and went and still Merton stared. It didn't feel as though his self-inflicted injury was bleeding through the bandage, but even if it were Merton wouldn't have done anything. He laid on his bed, immersed in memories.

The memories were bittersweet—of his life, of his friends before Tommy came into the picture due to necessity. When the jock became his friend, the Goth sacrificed the amount of time he spent in that life, opting instead for something that might lead him to a less painful school existence. The life that dominated his junior year centered around a combination of chat rooms and older Goth friends that survived Pleasantville High in anonymity to drop off the radar for the most part.

When he finally did drift off he was tormented with further images and memories, torn and twisted into sadistic nightmares.

He was jilted from his sleep by Becky's shrill voice. "Wake up freak, I need a ride to school."

Merton, groggy from sleep and weary from his dreams, even a tad thankful for the reprieve, was in no mood to argue her demands. He just nodded and rolled out of bed with a groan, dragging himself to the shower. When he removed the shirt and bandage he saw that the cut hadn't scabbed over.

"Didn't think it was that deep," he muttered to himself, more for the sake of saying it than actually caring, before beginning the ritual of showering.

The sudsy water bit as it slid down his arm and blood started to trickle again, but Merton didn't acknowledge it. When he stepped from the stall and toweled off he rubbed antibacterial cream over it and put a row of band-aids on. He put the rest of the box in his coffin-shaped backpack for the change that would inevitably be needed, threw on an outfit of form hugging maroon shirt and black pants, spiked his hair, and ran up the stairs all in under twenty minutes.

But it wasn't fast enough for Becky.

She was waiting impatiently strewn on the couch in the living room. "About time," she snapped. "Come on."

"Sorry," he muttered sarcastically as he followed her outside.

The next hours were ordinary, just another day in a dull school existence barely worth mentioning. Merton went through the motions without really noticing, his thoughts kept streaming back to his dreams. All day he fought the pull of the memories off, busying himself with class work or acting like he was listening to Tommy and Lori drone on and on about something or other. He was safe with these, not to mention thoroughly homework free that night, until last period came about. The teacher had left suddenly for a "family emergency" and no one could fill in, so the class was given a study hall. All busywork having been done, Merton attempted to write or doodle to keep his mind off the nightmares but eventually they overwhelmed all other thought.

_"I love you," he sighed into Aaron's hair._

_Aaron let out a throaty chuckle. "You don't know what love is. You're just a kid."_

_"I'll be eighteen in a month," Merton informed indignantly._

_Aaron shifted so he rested on his arm to face the boy. He ran his fingers lightly over Merton's pale cheek, eyes flickering over the delicate features. "That's a compliment, Dingle," Aaron smiled, revealing crooked white teeth. "Don' try to be some smart-ass adult," he advised after a moment, suddenly going serious. "Don' try to grow up so damned fast, it's not all it's cracked up to be."_

_"Now you're starting to sound like my parents," Merton chuckled nervously._

_"Sorry," Aaron smiled again to make the younger Goth's heart melt. "Just … don't be Them."_

_"Ah, the ever elusive 'Them'," Merton drew with his characteristic sarcasm. "One of these days I'll have to find out who this 'Them' is."_

_"Why do I keep trying to warn you about this? I'm already too late." Aaron playfully hit Merton with a pillow, laughing, his brown mane of hair cascading around his face. He leaned down chastely kissed Merton's lips._

_"Aw come on," he whined, "you can do better than that!" Merton wove his fingers in the older man's hair, pulling him down for a deeper kiss._

_At that moment the door to the run down bedroom bust open and three buff, snarling men stomped in. The two lying on the bed looked up in surprise but didn't have time to react before the invaders tore Aaron away. One of the men held him and the other two preceded to take turns punching and kicking him while Merton watched, paralyzed in fear._

_After what seemed like forever they finally left, leaving Aaron motionless on the floor. Merton just stared at the prone form. _He's dead,_ Merton gasped mentally, a chill overcoming him. _Oh fuck he's dead! I let him die.

_Aaron's eyes snapped open and glared at him from the floor, his body not moving. His voice came to Merton's mind, accusing. _Yes you did, _he spat in agreement. _Weak son of a bitch! You let them kill me! I hate you, you worthless little fuck!

This was just one of the many scenes which never happened that played out in Merton's mind, twisted and dramatized by guilt, but he wouldn't acknowledge that. He was so immersed in every detail of what the intruders did to Aaron in his mind that he didn't hear the bell ring, freeing the students from their scholarly prison. It was Tommy's voice that snapped him from his revelry.

"You ok man?" Tommy frowned.

"Yeah I'm fine why?" Merton asked, shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

"Because school ended ten minutes ago."

"Oh. Yeah. I was just thinking."

Tommy seemed to accept the excuse. "So do you wanna go to a movie with me and Lori this weekend?"

"Nah," Merton gathered his things and started walking from the room, Tommy following, "there isn't anything out I really wanna see. Do you have practice or did you want a ride home?"

"Practice. Coach is really ridin' me about this play."

"Oh. Well I gotta go, see ya later."

"Bye." _That was a little weird,_ part of Tommy thought as he watched the Goth's retreating back. But most of the jock's mind was consumed with thoughts of football.

Well damn now it's a TBC I suppose…


End file.
